


Airing Laundry

by Kitkat_Chunky



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: A lot of unnecessary discussion on cloaks, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fitzroy has a mild panic attack because im mean :(, General Chivalry, I'm touched starved and I want people to know, Light Angst, Like as bros do, M/M, Mutual Pining, To An Extent, but not in a weird way, hand kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:33:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25739620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitkat_Chunky/pseuds/Kitkat_Chunky
Summary: Fitzroy deals with the consequences of growing eight inches overnight. Argonaut's head (doesn't) explode. And the two of them almost stumble onto something important.
Relationships: Argo Keene/Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt
Comments: 11
Kudos: 77





	Airing Laundry

**Author's Note:**

> Ok. This fic was technically written a while ago. But my computer decided to die FOR ALMOST AN ENTIRE MONTH. So, can we please pretend that this came out before episode 20. Although I am glad I was able to sneak this under the door before episode 21 comes around. :)
> 
> Also, this is my first published fic! So any feedback would be amazing, and thank you for reading!

When Fitzroy awoke, he was drenched in sweat.

The sensation that hit him, as his brain tried to center itself was nauseating. A tidal wave of sharp pain smashed into his head, threatening to pull him back into slumber. Disorientating the half-elf even further. For a brief daunting moment, Fitzroy had no idea where he was. Were the sheets made of silk or polyester? Fitzroy laid incredibly still, terrified that if he opened his eyes, he would return to the room with the canopy bed.

But as his eyes adjusted, Fitzroy was greeted with the familiar sight of his windows spilling a flimsy trickle of morning light. Christening the bedroom in an early morning haze. Its dim rays illuminating tossed aside weaponry and a small pile of homework on his desk, long forgotten in the tumultuous events of the past week. His fantasy alarm clock was the only other source of light in the room. Rudely blaring the time as five in the morning. Three hours until the morning assembly. Birdsong intermingled with the harsh whispers of his roommates that drifted in from the other room. No royal attendees, no laughing Clyde Nite’s Night Knight School classmates, and no sublime godly creature draped in opal.

Slowly, Fitzroy crawled out of bed. Gingerly stretching his protesting muscles unused to waking up sore. Elven trances were simpler experiences. A trance would normally cause his body to go completely limp as he would slip into a light slumber. But last night was no elven trance. The sprawling castle and the gruesome execution was not like his normal nightmares. That was real sleep. And real sleep brings constricted muscles, migraines, and other nuisances that Fitzroy was certain was set up to immediately ruin his day. He swayed ungracefully to his new unnatural height, another issue that Fitzroy was going to deal with later because his life was dauntlessly out of control. Fitzroy left to check to see if his housemates were still there and that this was not another part of a cruel dream or hallucination that Fitzroy was being subjected to.

Instead, he focused on the muffled speech beyond his bedroom door.

When they had been upgraded to the Villain course, their room had been upgraded as well. Allowing Fitzroy, the official leader of their unit, his own small nook separated from his henchmen of whom still shared the same room, with the kitchen counter and other furniture. It wasn’t luxury in any sense, with it only being large enough to install a single bed, and a small desk. But this morning, that short distance felt far too wide.

He recognised Argo’s lilting voice, catching brief words like sleep, travel, and something about treating someone. Followed loyally by the Firbolg’s deep baritone hum of agreement. Fitzroy knew that he should have been more suspicious at the thought that his roommates were in a heated discussion without him. But living together for so long had proven that this was a common occurrence. The Firbolg and Argo had an annoying tendency of always being up at the crack of dawn. Stomping around the hallway, and mindlessly chattering as if they didn’t realise that they shared a domicile with a half-elf, whose trance can easily break and lose his precious hours of beauty sleep. It had been an act of public service for Fitzroy to establish the dorm rule, that no one could speak at full volume until every housemate was fully awake. Moreover, the half-elf conceded as he shuffled into the main room. With the night that he had experienced, Fitzroy was just glad that he recognised the voices outside of his view.

As expected, his henchmen were already awake. Argonaut was sitting cross-legged on his bed, his hair tied up in a bun, and cradling a cheap coffee mug that read ‘Lime Your’s!’ The sailor usually chipper in the morning appeared decidedly washed out. Even his watery hair that floated unnaturally around his shoulders looked duller than usual. The Firbolg was sat on the floor, absentmindedly tracing the curves in the wood, nodding attentively to Argonaut's ramble. It was only when he looked up, did Fitzroy notice his how sunken his eyes were underneath the mass of fur.

“Good Morning.” The giant acknowledged, in a gentle tone.

“Good morning boyo!” Argonaut pitched in, completely oblivious to the nuance of the room. at a volume still too sharp for Fitzroy’s growing headache. Argonaut blissfully unaware, or purposefully stubborn against the quiet reverence of early morning, enthusiastically motioned for Fitzroy to join him on the bed. “I was just telling our friend here, how…” He faltered for a moment, mid gesturing at the Firbolg. “…Busy. Yes. Busy, we have been in the past couple of days. An’ how we need to take a break for today and relax our bones for a bit. Y’know take in, and reflect before we make any big decisions.” The henchmen shrugged, an apologetic grimace lightly wrinkled the corner of his eyes.

“No talk of what occurred yesterday. Here.” The Firbolg confirmed, less than stellar at trying to keep a low profile. In fact, his friend looked the most distressed out of the three of them. It made an interesting picture, his roommate who was usually unbothered by such plights. Nervously picking leaves and branches out of his hair. Eyes bouncing between Fitzroy, Argo, and the other side of the room.

Fitzroy knew what he was referring to, quickly glancing at the stone mantle by the door. It had taken a long time for Fitzroy to initially relax around Gary. Uncomfortable at the thought that the stone supervisor could always see him when Fitzroy was at his weakest. Gary while good-natured, wasn’t confirmed yet to not have been tampered by Grey’s influence. But the stone creature remained staring straight ahead in frozen disinterest in the student’s conversation.

Higglemas had ordered that the boys return to their room and speak nothing more of it until the staff were ready. The two headmasters had wanted to discreetly call certain authorities about their ‘demon problem’. Leaving the trio high and dry on what to do. 

“Pardon me If I don’t feel the vibe today.” Fitzroy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fantasy Lord knows why we are all up this morning. But I’ve just had, more than likely, the worst week of my life. So, like, I’m huge now. First of all. Second, I just had to relive possibly the worst experience of my life. And third, I may still be cursed. So, yes Argonaut, you’re right we need a moment to compose ourselves. I personally would appreciate a bath so I can stop stinking of blood and centaur fur.”

“You should change Fitzroy.” The Firbolg raised his large hands in defence at Fitzroy’s balked expression. “Did I assume wrong? Or do you want to be the same with Argo? You are both par-ta-king in visible naval.”

Fitzroy started down at his torso with a start. Sure enough, both of their shirts, of which neither of them had bothered to change from the night before, were dangling above the bellybutton. This was common for Argo who wore crop-tops all the time. Either overly confident or completely uncaring of what other people thought of him. But for the half-elf who sculptured himself to a perfect image, this was an offensive sight. With all that was going on, he had completely forgotten that he had suddenly sprung up in height. Oh fantasy Jesus, how many people saw him wandering the halls yesterday with high riding pants and a midriff!

Far away he could hear Argo laughing.

“Yes, we make a right crew! We could make it into our company uniform.” Argo smiled cheerfully slapping the Firbolg’s arm. “What do you say eh' Ol’Firbolg. You wanna’ help start this fashion trend?”

“I. Do not care for it.” He answered honestly. “But a shared uniform shows costumer that we are a harmonious conglomerate, and a uniformed appearance will increase our sense of pride and cohesion. It would be a great honour to share a uniform with you.”

Fitzroy hopped off the bed to pace the floor instead. Already checked out of the conversation. He had to plan a new wardrobe and well as prepare for war. This whole situation is egregious. He files away the thought of creating a uniform for the Thundermen. It would finally give him a chance to nudge his friends into more fashionable circles. Although how much would it cost to find enough high-quality material to cloak a Firbolg. How much would it cost for him to replace all of his ruined cloaks.

“Ugh. My designer cloaks are ruined. I’ve taken such good care of it.”

“Fitzroy. You have grown, like a tree. It was very quick, yes. But not unnatural. Strong things grow all the time. I have not stopped growing.” The Firbolg added helpfully. It slowly dawned on Fitzroy that the Firbolg was speaking in a tone he had seen been previously reserved for small animals he ran into on campus. Fear? Like Fitzroy was a frightened animal waiting to flee. The approach was apt as Fitzroy continued to pace around the small confines of their lodging. “Whatever is mine. Is yours.”

“Yes, thank you. But alas I believe that your attire may prove to be too unwieldy. In battles and such.”

At some point, he had unintentionally summoned Snippers on a nearby tabletop, its claws nervously snipping in the air, loyally matching his master’s disposition.

Argo chuckled reaching down to pick up the magical creature. “Hi Snips.”

“My boy’s name is Snippers Maplecourt. Please give him the title he deserves.”

“Snips Applesauce.” Argo blatantly ignored, lightly placing the crustacean on the floor. “Can you do a quick parameter around the room? I want to know if that cat is still around here.”

“sksksksksksssrpt” The crab dashed under the beds, eager to have something to do.

“The in-visible cat?” The Firbolg questioned.

“Yeah” Argo replied balancing on his knees, watching the celestial crab scamper. “I don’t trust that thing. The little bugger keeps landing on me every morning, and I want to know how it keeps getting in here.” He exclaimed tapping the floor for emphasis.

“The cat is fine. I sense no bad intentions from it.”

“It doesn’t land on your head every morning.” Argo muttered under his breath.

The Firbolg nods wisely. “Perhaps it smells fish and is hungry.”

Argo snaps up to full attention at that. The sailor taking the hypothesis straight to heart, as he shifted in a stance infamously known to be proceeded by one of his “sneak” attacks.

“Pranked.” The Firebolg suddenly yelled with some pleasure. “That judgment is improbable. You have been pranked, dear friend.”

Fitzroy let the two of them tune out in the distance. Letting their voices fade away with the morning birdsong as he paced around the small parts of the room that wasn’t cluttered with textbooks. He couldn’t bear the thought of joining in with his friends’ banter. How could they be expected to remain calm in a time like this, with a war on their shoulders. He takes in shaky breaths in an attempt to clear his mind as the familiar buzz of a rage flickered at the corners of his perception. Deep breathing is a great technique to defuse any bomb as reassured by his tenured professor Festo. He wasn’t sure at the time that the technique would work as he highly doubted that the fairy had ever been calm. But it’s the only thing he could think about to keep his magic from causing any further havoc in the apartment. And this was his problem, he was too high strung, too unpredictable and unstable. Now was not the time to reveal his hand that he had far less control of himself than he let on. It wasn’t the right message to convey as a leader. His breath catches the moment he notices a sunray bounce off a cheap mirror that they had bought at Last Hope’s candlenights market tauntingly reflected a glint of rainbow on the wooden floor. 

Fitzroy was suddenly pulled from his thoughts as a hand clamped onto his arm. Argo had snuck up on him, trapping him with a surprisingly vice-like grip. “What do you think?”

“About what?” Fitzroy croaked, mildly panicked at how Argo wasn’t letting go.

Argonaut gifts him a reassuring smile that makes Fitzroy’s throat feel even dryer. He still wasn’t use to being taller than his dormmate. Their old dynamic felt increasingly threatened now that Argo had to look up at Fitzroy to speak to him, highlighting the rogue’s long lashes.

“Buds just head out to check on the forest. To see if the pegasi left anything behind for us. An’ we have an hour or two to kill till breakfast. So, I was thinking this morning that I would help you sort out your outfits. We can see what needs to be thrown away with your new physique an’ all. We can’t have our fancy-pants CEO looking unprofessional.” Argo gave him a hearty slap on the arm as if that would help dispel any troubles from his friend.

Fitzroy looked around in panic. Sure enough, the Firbolg was no longer in the dorm room, leaving the two of them alone in the tense air.

“Cheer up sour puss! Bud will be fine! He said he’ll meet us later in the cafeteria.” Argo was tugging now insistently on Fitzroy’s arm, attempting to steer the barbarian towards a chest of drawers at the end of Argo’s bed. Fitzroy concedes to the nudging, knowing full well that Argo was going to struggle to move him if he decided to be stubborn. Moreover, beyond tired, Fitzroy didn’t mind being manhandled away from the teasing reminder of Chaos on the floor. “Come on Fitz, you can borrow some of my clothes.”

“Argo, I have destroyed my great physique which I have been cultivating for many years. I have been cursed. I’m still nowhere near close to understanding my own magic. Literally everything that had happened last night. And I have a cattle brand tattoo, like some sort of wild stock.”

The rogue shakes his head in fond exasperation, familiar with his villain’s habitual fixations on exaggerating the worst. Instead, he starts fishing at the content of his drawer. Haphazardly throwing some items at Fitzroy and dumping the rest on the floor.

“I know you’re a bit bigger than me now, but I think I have some things that will fit. Most of my clothes are loose anyway, it makes sneaking around much easier.” He chuckled. “Unless you're gonna complain about it too. I did promise Firby that I would make him an outfit with the curtains. I could whip you up something new as well?”

One item catches Fitzroy’s eye as it is passed into his hands. It’s a plain white shirt with an open V-neck. The sleeves are slightly puffed, but the end of the sleeve is a ruffle made of delicate lace. Argonaut seemed to have a generally humble demeanour day to day, but Fitzroy was silently impressed by the detail of the embroidery.

“No, this is fine.” Fitzroy replied curtly. Realising that he hadn’t answered Argo’s question, and not wanting to seem like he was judging Argos taste in clothes as he put the shirt on. It fit well with a baggy pair of brown pants that Argo had slipped into his hand at some point. As promised, the items were loose enough that they fit Fitzroy’s new frame, obscuring the stretch marks that lined his stomach. They were starchy but smelt of Argo. Fresh and slightly salty.

“It's very handsome.” Argonaut noted, a gleam in his eyes.

Fitzroy stopped in his tracks mentally taken aback. On one hand, he was sure that Argo was only exaggerating to be kind. Clearly trying to keep a friend in good spirits. On another, being complimented for his looks, on the odd occasion that it happened, always had the capacity to completely blindside Fitzroy. Especially from a suave individual like Argonaut who was always receiving compliments from fellow classmates.

The compliment itself was tinged in nostalgia. He could almost see his mother Dendra, bent over a cooking stove. How her hands would reach out to pinch Fitzroy’s cheeks the first time she called him handsome. Would she even recognise her son now?

“I can’t move my arms.” Fitzroy says as a trick to pull Argonaut away from the topic.

“That would be a good trick to play at a bar. Just flex your arms and break off the sleeves.” Argonaut replies, not rising to the bait.

Decided to ignore the blush that was creeping at the back of his neck. Fitzroy nervously tried to flatten Argonaut's clothing that now resided on his body. “Well, the next time I am out – at a bar – I’ll be sure to show you whether I can do that” He stumbles out awkwardly, clumsily trying to match Argo’s teasing tone.

Fitzroy was never certain of whether his comments tilted past flirty and into mean. Fitzroy had never considered the skill of flirtation as a necessity until he had arrived at Wiggenstaff's. The opportunity to pursue relationships, friendly or otherwise, had unfortunately taken a backseat in his hectic life. Instead filing away any thought of it, unless someone extraordinary came by, of which no one particular had come strongly to mind in Fitzroy’s youth. His only familiarity with courtship were from the tattered old romance books he would pilfer from under his mother’s bed during childhood. With his father traveling so often, there were very little instances for Fitzroy to study the relationship between his parents. So, the small novellas worked double-time to socialise the young farm boy to the intricacies of the world. Those depictions of shinning knights delicately holding their lady-loves, passing gifts, and swearing fealty to one another under passionate sunsets were all that prepared Fitzroy for the real world. And he highly doubted that Argonaut would want to be treated like a fair-lady in waiting.

Not that he was hoping to use that knowledge on Argonaut.

Momentarily lost in his fantasies. Fitzroy had not noticed that Argonaut had moved on, casually sauntering into Fitzroy’s room as if that wasn’t a huge breach in company policy. Argo chuckled lightly in front of Fitzroy’s wardrobe, watching its owner stomp into the room. “I knew that would get ya’ moving. Don’t mind me though, I’m not gonna break anything. Just seeing what’s salvageable before you start panicking.”

 _Don’t make fun of what’s in there._ He wanted to say but, “Will you please stop creasing my stuff if you are going to pillage through it?” was all that escaped instead.

Argo shrugged the threat off. In through one ear, and washing out the other, Fitzroy supposed. “Well, my head doesn’t seem to be exploding so I think I’m doing alright.”

As Argo pawned through the shirts and other items, Fitzroy could not help but feel a little embarrassed now that the Firbolg was no longer around to mediate. In truth, their relationship has been a large question mark of late. Sharing a suite meant that they were pretty close in some aspects, already use to each other’s small domestic idiosyncrasies. But Argonaut would disappear for long periods of time during the night without a word. Unlike the Firbolg who lived his life honestly without fear of judgment, Argo sometimes appeared like a stranger in his own home, and that was enough to kick Fitzroy’s paranoid mind into overdrive on ways to distance himself from his friend. Yet, Fitzroy couldn’t ignore the undeniable truth that he did care greatly for Argo’s opinion on his clothing and on himself. More so than most of his other peers. Perhaps it was their constant proximity as roommates. But Argonaut’s perception of the world was on a high pedestal, one that towered over his classmates.

So the two of them passed the time together. Letting Fitzroy change in the bathroom, and organise what stays and what goes. Both adamant to not bring up the horrors of the past night.

He had to admit, if Argo’s plan was to cheer him up, it was working. It was the first time in a while that the two had been left alone to enjoy each other’s company without the immediate threat of danger, or worrying about each other’s health. Plus, any opportunity to preen and parade his wears was always good. Topics pertaining to where Fitzroy had gotten his outfits, the pain of breaking in leather shoes, to recommending hair products that best washes out dirt and blood, were tossed lazily between them as they combed the confines of Fitzroy’s wardrobe. Argonaut coxing a new topic of conversation every time Fitzroy’s heart sank when a shirt didn’t button correctly or a pair of pants rose up too high.

“Argo is this cloak too short? It’s supposed to be rather long on the arm but I think it might be salvageable.”

“It accentuates your calves” Argo replied with a quick finger gun for exclamation. Always loyal, and eager to please. Fitzroy is reminded once again how lucky he had ended up with being forcibly saddled with his friends. The dread of the coming war felt like nothing more than a bad nightmare in the early hour glow that made the tips of Argonaut's hair seem transparent.

During a conversation where Argonaut admitted that he never learned the correct terms for armour. And that Fitzroy should find time to teach him. Fitzroy looked up to find one of his cloaks draped over Argo’s shoulders. It wasn’t buttoned correctly and so it hung off his frame like a lopsided poncho. The sailor was swaggering around the room admiring glass jewels as happy as a clam with his new treasures.

Fitzroy reached out to touch the fabric that hung off him. Suddenly overtaken with an urge to gift it to Argo if the sailor was admiring it so much. “That’s a Mcelroy original.” He explains, knowing that the name wouldn’t mean anything to Argonaut but still eager to fish for a compliment anyway.

“I know!” The genasi responded, matching Fitzroy’s mirthful tone. “I saw it in a Boy Cloak issue.”

Fitzroy froze. Argo had been reading his ‘Boy Cloak’ magazines. And Fitzroy had known that. Right before they had left for their centaur mission, Fitzroy had split off from the group before they entered their carriage to retrieve a scabbard he had forgotten to pack. Desperate to not be left behind, he had rummaged through his henchmen’s belongings when it was clear that it wasn’t in his own room. It wasn’t the best course of action, but at the time he was certain that their friendship was strong enough that neither of his roommates would mind. Especially in the case of the Firbolg who saw all objects in the dorm as communal at best. It was under Argo's bed where he saw the accursed sight. One of the floorboards was slightly raised than the others, as if it was recently pried open. Under the floorboards, Fitzroy found Argo’s stash of Boy Cloak magazines. But that wasn’t all, there were textbooks on barbarians, the theoretical practice of wild magic, and to Fitzroy’s own climbing horror, a book on elven nobility. At the time, he had hastily placed the block of wood back, and filed his fear away to be dealt with later. Not ready yet to hear how the rogue would lie to him. The memory itself too had been tossed aside in the past week, but now it had resurfaced so harshly that Fitzroy could feel the sting of the punch against his abdomen.

Argonaut knew more about him than he did about Argonaut. Argonaut was researching him. Just like that, like a trap door springing open, the sense of comfort that Argonaut brought him evaporated in an instance and his heart plummeted to his feet. _He was about to plan for war with someone he didn’t know._

The world crawls to a stop as the familiar static of an oncoming rage frays at the edge of his senses. The migraine returns violently severing his thin focus on reality. All he can hear is blood rushing to his ears, and Chaos’s honeyed tone mingled into the breeze. He vaguely notes that he was now sitting on his bed, and that Argo was watching him with wide eyes. Fitzroy wanted to snap at him, to demand why he deserved to be looked at in the same way the prisoner of his dreams stared up at him. Until he realises that Argo is gripping the cloak on his shoulders as it floated unnaturally on his shoulders. In fact, every article of clothing, textbook, random papers, and makeup bottles were levitating. He had unintentionally triggered a magically induced rage.

For a brief moment, Fitzroy considered reaching out his hand and exploding Argo’s head, just as he promised to do so at the centaur camp. Not aiming to kill but to cause him a migraine spell or sending a small electric shock. Anything to knock loose whatever secrets he had, to wipe out the pitying glances that makes Fitzroy’s insides feel like mush. To finally allow Fitzroy some piece of mind. But knowing his magic and the unfortunate circumstances of the past year, Fitzroy could guarantee that he wouldn’t accidentally split Argo's head open. Fitzroy felt a lump of bile creep up his throat at the thought. Argo’s head exploding like a shot watermelon, splattering the walls and sheets with crimson. Fitzroy instantly recoils from the lost thought, a consequence of heightened emotions during a rage.

So, the half-elf curls inwards, away from the scene set out before him. How can he be so judgemental of Argo who had only shown him kindness up to this point. But equally, how could he trust a matter of life and death with someone who was hiding something. He rebuilds the walls originally constructed to separate himself from the rest of the world. Building on the foundations of distrust and self-serving survival he had cultivated from Clyde Nite’s.

“I’m sure your secret beau that you have tried so hard to hide from us appreciates your knowledge on that. In fact, whomever you keep ditching us for to spy on me would find this information imperative.” The accusation leaves his lips before he fully registers them, bitter and heavy in the air. He wants to drag Argo down from whatever pedestal that Fitzroy had planted him on. To pull apart the trust the rogue had stolen when he cradled Fitzroy in his arms. 

The genasi’s expression faltered. Like a stone dashed into a pond, his expression rippled from concern, to shock, and to Fitzroy’s growing annoyance, into a forced calm.

“I know you think I’m an idiot Fitz, but I’m not letting you get away with shirking this off. Now. I’m not having this Fitzroy. You- I know- I know that you’re going through a rough patch. And honestly. It’s not going to clear up soon but. You have to trust me at some point. I’m not trying to steer you wrong buddy. Because I know that we are going to be together for the long haul.” Argonaut's eyes were flickering from Fitzroy’s face to the floating items in the room, as if they were to suddenly attack him if he spoke the wrong word.

The fleeting pleasure at catching him off-guard soured immediately as he watched Argo flounder.

He knew from the letters that he had penned in his dreams, notes on delicate paper ranging on topics from everything to nothing sent with painstaking attention across the miles of the ocean between the king and his admiral, that Argo was somewhat right. The two of them were connected however vaguely the relationship was even in their far-flung futures. He felt suddenly desperate to ask if Argo had seen something similar during the night as well. That to his horror, Chaos had slipped through Fitzroy's grasp and had come to torment his friends. A failure again. But Argonaut had already continued on.

Again, the unexplainable expression dancing across the genasi’s features, yet his voice remained soft. “I know you’ve been spending more time with the Firbolg. This whole school has given you enough reason to be precautious. But-” His voice was laced with a steel that Fitzroy felt unfamiliar to his sidekick. “Don’t add me to your list of enemies.”

Fitzroy struggled against a ball in his throat. This was the point at the end of everything. Was he prepared to cut Argonaut completely from his life? His sidekick? His roommate, who practices terrible pepper-based recipes and gets upset when watching sappy children films. How could someone who was actively trying to hurt him, not strike him down when he was at his weakest in the centaur forest. Cradling him as if he was someone important. Someone worth protecting. Someone who he desperately wished would cross the distance between them and hold him again.

“I don’t see you as an enemy, Argonaut.”

He struggles against the roar against his ears, as he desperately tries to swim to that horizon.

“I think I might have heard you. While I was out. I didn’t hear everything. But I felt that you were there.” Fitzroy pushed his glasses off his nose and to the top of his head. A wave of exhaustion batters against his skull. Rubbing at his tired eyes that now desperately yearn to drop. As the darkness settled in, he felt that he was going to fall somewhere unreachable into its depths. Argo was still watching him, standing above an obelisk unknown. Carefully he felt the words, testing them out in his mouth like heavy stones. “I don’t believe that I would have felt you if I didn’t want to trust you.”

Argonaut closes the distance between them, casually swatting away ink pens and jewellery. Fitzroy moves on instinct, reaching out and grabbing Argo’s hand. Grasping it like an anchor in a turbulent storm.

His hand is softer than Fitzroy expected for an appendage covered in scales. Smooth, warm, and shimmering slightly in the morning sunlight. A tattoo of a compass winked back, hidden beneath the soft cloth of his sleeve. The sense of comfort that it brings is palpable. Fitzroy never realised how touch starved he was until that moment that it made him dizzy. _He almost threw this all away_ , his mind taunts. Fitzroy cups Argo’s hand and curls into it, until it lightly pressed his forehead, hoping that whatever spell that Argonaut had on him would dispel the fear that gripped his body.

Fitzroy couldn’t bear to look up to face whether he would be denied or not. But Argo was not making any signal to move his hand away. No impression of discomfort at having his hand be squeezed so tightly. Fitzroy had no idea how to express the level of gratitude he felt. No matter how many layers of fancy clothing he donned, he was still the farmer boy with little experience on how to convey his heart to others. So, he closes his eyes tightly and guides Argo’s hand slowly downwards to his lips to press a chaste kiss to his knuckle. Desperate to convey a message that he had could not actualise in words.

In his half-hidden dreams, this was supposed to be a triumphant moment. To have this long-term crush in his arms. To kiss his arms a sappy and dramatic affair, just like the knightly stories that he had read as a child. But all that he could muster was a half-hearted dread. Amplified when he feels Argo gently places pressure on their interlocked hand. Guiding it away from Fitzroy’s lips and to his sides. Fitzroy clenches his eyes harder, afraid of letting go and facing rejection head-on.

However, his heart almost threatens to escape from his chest as he sensed Argonaut lower himself to Fitzroy’s sitting height and approach for an embrace.

Argo’s chin slots into the crook of Fitzroy's neck as if it naturally belonged there. His free hand begins to rub circles into Fitzroy’s back in a manner that expressed that Argonaut had experience in this field. Dumbfounded at this sudden change in dynamics, all the barbarian could do was drape his arms pathetically around Argo’s shoulders, trying to subdue his overstimulated senses.

For a second, a strand of Argo’s hair brushes his knuckles. It’s silky and otherworldly. Floating in the air unencumbered by the laws of gravity as if touching hair when underwater. On any other day, Fitzroy would claim that he would rather walk into Groundsy’s hut and face the consequences than admit that he was jealous of the genasi’s hair. It was the rogue’s centerpiece statement, slicked back and uncharacteristically fashionable for the sailor. Fitzroy wishes that he had something as naturally striking to separate himself from the crowd. And of course. he had to ruin it with the dumb mustache. One, that by all laws of the universe, should be incredibly tacky but was worn with a confidence that it wound back into being handsome. One that he could feel tickle the lobe of his ear. It’s real and so very _painfully_ Argo, that the world suddenly felt more in focus. He was in his room, he was with his friend, and the world was possibly ending around them.

But just as quickly as it had occurred, the bizarre moment was over. Argonaut was pulling away. Too soon, Fitzroy laments, feeling the chill of the from his sudden lack of presence.

“How do you want to deal with this?” Argonaut whispers, soft as a babbling brook. The tone gentle prodding like the Firbolg had done earlier. But his grip on Fitzroy's arm was tight pinning him solidly in place.

Fitzroy finally gathered his courage to look at Argonaut’s green eyes. _How do I want to deal with this?_ Fitzroy couldn’t run from the two truths set before him. One, that he cared far more for his henchmen than he ever could imagine. The thought of Argonaut disappearing for good was enough to send him into hysterics. Two, that no matter how desperately he wanted to trust him, there was still too much unsaid. He had no idea whether, when the truth finally arrives, it would be enough to break them. A stalemate between a person who was dishonest about himself, and a person who was dishonest about their actions. Despite being as close physically as they have ever been. The emotional gauge between the two of them felt too large. Could Fitzroy even make that jump into the unknown at a time like this, when the world seemed so uncertain.

 _I don’t want things to fall apart beneath me_ , he thinks. “Can we go back to normal.” He says instead.

“Fitz-” Argo croons, his voice came out gruff and shaky. But Fitzroy watches his eyes harden with a resolve that he had not seen for a very long time.

“Hi Students, it's me, Gary! This is your morning announcement that the cafeteria is officially open, and a reminder that all students need to be present for morning assembly as there will be a very special guest!”

The booming voice of Gary the gargoyle slices through the tension, severing the moment between them. Books, clothes, and other miscellaneous items violently clattered to the floor, as the magic Fitzroy didn’t realise he was still holding, broke. Argo is the first to move, springing to his feet in a swift motion. Using their hands, still entwined, he drags Fitzroy off the bed as well.

“I promise we’ll talk Fitz. But let’s go get breakfast first” He whispered so quietly that Fitzroy was unsure if he had even heard him.

Fitzroy nods dumbly, blinking away tears at the corner of his eyes. There wasn’t time to selfishly wallow in small issues like relationships any longer. There was a war still to plan for. And a CEO must keep a level head if he was to steer his loved ones away from Chaos’s influence in the future. He takes a quick glance back at this room. Piles of junk and clothes scattered haphazardly on every surface as a consequence of his wild magic. But Fitzroy couldn’t muster any ill feelings towards the clutter. Even though the clothes were scattered on the floor, lost and unresolved against the wooden floor. The air felt decidedly cleaner to breathe in. So Fitzroy left the safety of their dorm with Argonaut into the unknown.

Their hands still entwined.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Maplekeene, it's such a nice mix of sad and sweet.
> 
> I also love that Pirate and Fancy nobleman clothing aesthetics completely overlap with each other. A pirate and a prince can both look at a medieval brown pants/ white flowy shirt combo and be like *nice*. And that's great.
> 
> *Edit Addition: Forgot to plug. So if you want to chat about Taz Grad find me on tumblr @honeyed-beans. Thanks for Reading!


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